For His Namesake
by Mishka67
Summary: A sequel to "Twelfth Night" and "First Birthday." Bates adjusts to the demands of fatherhood and friendship. Angst-free Bates family fluff and RoBates bonding.


**Note: A little trip into my evolving "twin universe" for the Bates family. Well, it was evolving, at any rate. This story has been languishing half-finished on my hard drive since January. My muse returned suddenly this week from a long sabbatical. This story takes place within the same head canon as** **Twelfth Night** **and** **First Birthday** **. I have another story, half-composed in my gray matter, which continues on with this particular Bates family. Which, of course, will become completely AU once S6 airs.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Downton, Bates, Anna, etc., more's the pity, but I am laying claim to the twins. At least until Julian Fellowes grants my wish and makes them (or someone very similar) canon.**

 **FOR HIS NAMESAKE**

"And how is your family getting settled in, Bates?" Lord Grantham asked as he slipped into the dress shirt Bates patiently held for him.

"It has certainly been an adjustment, milord," Bates spoke in measured tones. He affixed the earl's cuff links before turning to retrieve the dinner jacket.

The last few days had been a whirlwind for Bates. He still wasn't quite accustomed to the notion that he had a family – beyond Anna, of course. Ever since the twins' birth, he had found himself mentally wandering back to the night Anna had demanded that they marry. She had said that she wanted to be his next of kin. She was that, and so much more, of course, but he could not seem yet to completely wrap his mind around the fact that there were now two more people who fit that definition. He felt it keenly when he opened the door to the cottage, but the feeling was different when he carried it around with him during the day. He had a family, but they seemed to inhabit a different world, a world he was privileged enough to spend some time in, but did not fully live in. Perhaps it was just still the adjustment of no longer having Anna somewhere near as he went through his work day. He missed her, missed seeing her at meals, missed tucking her into a closet or empty room for a brief kiss at odd moments. But he was beginning to miss them, too, even though he had known them for only a matter of days. Months of dreaming and preparing for "the baby" had not truly prepared him for the actual living, breathing, waking up at all hours of the night, flesh and blood children.

Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson had given him the luxury of the morning after the birth free in order to get Anna and the twins settled at home. They had also been generous in granting him time to go into town to secure some of the additional supplies they would need with two infants. He was grateful they had the support of their neighbors, as well as Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes. Without their help he was certain Anna would have no rest. But even as tired as she so clearly was from the birth itself and the care of their children all day, motherhood seemed to have restored the last of the glow that had always been quintessentially Anna to him. Even in her exhaustion, she smiled all the time now. That part had been a welcome adjustment.

"Thank you for the time you've granted, milord." Bates added as he drew himself out of his reverie.

"My pleasure, Bates," the earl said, settling his jacket into place with a shrug.

"If I may, milord?" Bates offered tentatively. He turned the brush over in his hands several times. "I wanted to ask-"

"Robert, there you are!" Lady Grantham glided into the room. "Are you ready? We're going to be so late."

"I apologize, milady," Bates nodded once and backed away slightly.

"Oh, it isn't your fault, Bates," she waved off his contrition. "His lordship has no desire to attend this dinner."

"I have no desire to spend my evening with more of these so-called 'bright young things' going on about the debauchery they pass off as entertainment these days." Lord Grantham puffed out his chest, though Bates was certain it was entirely an unconscious act. "But the sooner we're away, the sooner we can return. Don't wait for me, Bates," he said, turning to the valet as he spoke. "I'll stumble my way through tonight as long as you can handle sorting out the mess I'll make of it in the morning."

"Certainly, milord," Bates replied. "And thank you."

Lord Grantham paused before following his wife through the door. "You had a question, Bates?"

"It will keep, milord," Bates replied with aplomb. "I wouldn't want your lordship to arrive any later." He was almost certain he heard Lady Grantham chuckle as she led her husband up the hall.

A week had passed and still the question had not been asked. Anna hadn't reminded him every day, but the lack of an answer was beginning to gnaw at them both. An opportunity to ask had never quite presented itself. Bates found himself musing over his lordship's upcoming trip to London. The trip had been planned for maximum efficiency. Neither the earl nor his valet relished being away from hearth and home for any longer than was strictly necessary, but there remained some matters Lord Grantham preferred to handle in person. As Bates reflected on the schedule for the following week, he tried to identify instances when he might be able to steer his employer's attention in the direction he needed.

Although the problem weighed on him, Bates soon found himself musing over related matters. Able to brood anywhere, anytime, upon almost any topic, he had decided just today that a pram was a perfect companion for a brooder. He pushed the buggy along the dirt pathways leading from their row of cottages toward the stables. The trails were not frequented by anyone other than Mr. Chirk, their neighbor, so Bates was in little danger of running across anyone to interrupt his thoughts. His associates for the next hour or so, his children, were likewise ideal company for a brooder. His son was stilled lulled into sleep by the full meal he'd had before leaving the cottage, while his daughter seemed to take after him and simply regarded what she could see of the world with a wide, analytical gaze. Bates had arrived home this afternoon for his half day and found Anna so tired she could scarcely stand. He had packed her off for a nap and bundled both children into the pram for a walk about the grounds.

Bates had determined to speak with an estate agent while in London, to inquire about hotels that might be listed for sale. While he preferred to stay near Downton, as it was home to him and Anna both more than ever now, he was not averse to looking further afield if the price and conditions were right. At any rate, it was time to begin an active search for a property. As though she could read his thoughts, his daughter blinked owlishly at him.

"Well, I'm glad you approve, young miss," he said to her with a nod over the pram.

He looked up to see they were now skirting the edge of a clearly abandoned tenant farm. The farmhouse windows gave off a blank, dirty stare, bare of curtain but still revealing nothing of what was inside. The barn further along the path looked more well-kept and as Bates pushed the buggy past, he noticed the door was open and there were a great many crates and large feed bags stacked inside. He was surprised to see Lord Grantham coming around the corner of one large stack.

"Bates?" the earl called quizzically. "What brings you to this end of our world?" He came out of the barn and into the sunlight, a slight double take communicating to Bates that his lordship had only just noticed the pram. "And who have we here?" he asked with a smile. "Not quite the way I envisioned you spending a day off, Bates."

Bates wondered just how his employer did imagine he spent his half days, but perhaps that avenue was better left unexplored. Domesticity was a very different concept across that great divide.

"I am finding that as long as I keep the pram moving, milord, my children are quite good company." Bates nodded, as he had embarked on this walk without his hat since the day was so fine. He eyed his daughter with caution as he had, of course, paused in order to respond to Lord Grantham. He gently bounced the buggy, tapping the handle, suddenly realizing that his comment might have sounded rude. He eyed the earl uncertainly, and knocked the pushchair's handle down a bit harder than he intended. His daughter squealed in protest, while his son opened his eyes with what Bates could only describe as a baleful look. Perhaps now was not the best time, he mused, but another might not be so soon forthcoming.

"Perhaps not moving quite so much, eh, Bates?" Lord Grantham chuckled.

"It's a new skill to learn, milord," Bates apologized, "managing the pram without my cane." Even after all their years together, reference to his handicap still left Bates feeling inadequate. And yet, despite the early opinions of others, Lord Grantham had never found him to be so. And that was the whole point, wasn't it?

"I don't believe I've been properly introduced, Bates," the earl said, bending over the pram to peer at the infants. "You've not even told me their names." He stood back up, giving Bates a questioning look.

"No, sir, I haven't," Bates began. "I have wanted to talk to you about that, actually." Bates wondered at his own nervousness over such a simple matter, really. Still, here was the opportunity held right out to him. He could not have arranged such a situation if he had tried.

"Oh?" Lord Grantham asked lightly, clearly unaware of the emotional upheaval going on within his valet.

"Yes, milord," Bates said softly. "The young lady on the right there is Eleanor," his voice was firmer, yet still wistful as he gazed at his daughter. She had a full head of dark brown hair, but her features were almost all Anna's. Bates was thankful that her squealing at his rough pram-handling had settled into the occasional brief mewl of discontent. In fact, the way her face scrunched up when she cried reminded him of Anna's when she was frustrated with him. He smiled, a sigh escaping him, as his love for both his wife and daughter suddenly plumbed new depths.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," Lord Grantham said. "She looks rather like Anna, doesn't she?"

"She does, milord," Bates agreed. "I hope that continues as she grows."

"And your son?" Bates detected a hint of wistfulness in Lord Grantham's tone. Could it be that his employer was jealous of him? Was he recalling the loss of his own miscarried son? Or still missing the sons-in-law separated from him, one by death, one by an ocean? Bates felt a sudden surge of fierce possessiveness for this boy who had been in his life for less than two weeks. A wild and marvelous thing this was, being a father.

"That's actually what I've wanted to talk with you about, milord," Bates said, his hesitancy returning. "We . . . that is I . . . Anna wants to name him John, after me, but I don't agree. I want his name to be a . . . a guidepost for him . . . an example." John bristled internally at his faltering words. He had given a great deal of thought to how he wanted to say this, yet now, in the moment, most of the words escaped him. "I want to name him Robert," he rushed on, "but I would like to ask your lordship's . . . well, not permission, exactly, but perhaps your blessing?"

Bates stood very still, kicking himself inside. His words sounded as though he was approaching the earl with his hat in his hand, begging for the use of his name, when he had intended to be offering a gift of gratitude. The way the words had tumbled out of his mouth failed to honor his intentions and their, well, to be honest, their friendship. Rather it seemed to lessen it.

"I'm flattered, Bates," the earl seemed genuinely taken aback. "I wonder that you find me worthy of the honor. After all, it was you who saved me, not the other way round. Twice, if I recall correctly."

Bates had never in all the years since Africa felt so much like the young, still dewy-eyed corporal pressed into service as the captain's batman, quite by accident. His predecessor had been killed in a sneak attack during the night and a strapping Corporal Bates had led a platoon of soldiers who had subdued the intruders yards away from where the almost as young and strapping Captain Crawley was meeting with the other officers. His younger self had been mesmerized by the captain who had come storming out of the tent with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, standing protectively in front of the visiting colonel. The young captain had been fierce and bright, his light brown curls slicked back, matching the burnished bronze and gold of his uniform. Youthful Bates was certain that this godlike man, though probably not that much older than himself, must surely have a greater mastery of the strange new world they had traveled to than he did. In the intervening years, Bates had become quite aware that he, himself, now possessed a keener understanding of how the world and human nature actually worked than his employer did currently, much less thirty years ago. And yet, Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, was in possession of such a sense of honor, decency, and true goodness that Bates could think of no better model for his son.

"But you _**have**_ saved me, milord," Bates stated, girding himself to express emotions he usually only felt comfortable sharing with Anna. "You gave me a chance when no one else would all those years ago. Twice, if I recall correctly." Bates smiled as he echoed the other man's words. "And then you redeemed me, milord, again, twice. Once when I abandoned Downton to return to Vera, and the second time after my release from prison." Bates stood almost to attention. "It is I who owe you, sir."

"Nonsense!" Grantham argued. "You 'abandoned' us, as you say, to defend my family's honor. And you were never guilty in the first place, so your prison sentence was no smirch on your character."

"It would have been to others, milord," Bates quietly insisted. He glanced down at little Eleanor and her as yet tentatively named brother. They had been conceived over the last Christmas season; both Bateses preferring to believe it had been the night of their second most joyous reunion. "As would my more recent fugitive status. You have been an unswervingly faithful . . . employer, milord." He breathed out the last on a cleansing sigh, even though he had struggled with the true description of their intimate, yet reserved relationship.

"I have been your _**friend**_ , John Bates," Grantham spat out quickly, sounding almost offended. "And you have been mine. And it's high time we both admitted it." The earl puffed out his chest slightly, as he often did when making a point, and offered Bates his hand.

Bates took Grantham's hand and shook, keeping his left hand on the pram for balance. "I am your friend, milord, as you are mine," he vowed in return.

Grantham took in a deep breath and seemed to square himself. "And that means that you cannot name your son after me in some misguided perception of obligation," he intoned.

"Milord," Bates protested. "It isn't-"

"You may, however, name him after your friend, and, if I dare ask, his godfather?" Bates felt his breath rush out of him as Lord Grantham clapped him lightly on the shoulder. It was his right shoulder, fortunately, which helped to support him in his shock.

"Now I am the one who wonders that you find me worthy of the honor, milord." Bates gripped the pram's handle more tightly, putting nearly all of his weight on his left leg. He was mildly astounded that both children had remained calm and fairly silent, but perhaps even they grasped the emotion and solemnity of the moment. Bates felt a strong need to get them moving again, but he would not cut this moment short for anything.

"I suppose we are even then, Bates," Grantham said, deadpan, though Bates sensed the camaraderie beneath his words.

"In that case," Bates nodded to his friend, "Lord Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, may I present my son, Robert John Bates?"

"You most certainly may," the earl said. He then further surprised Bates by reaching into the pram and untucking the blanket covering both children. He picked up the boy, still tightly bundled in a receiving blanket, and cradled him in his arm. "A pleasure to meet you, young Robert," he added, holding his namesake so he could meet his eye. Bates found himself reflexively reaching for his son, but stopped himself with a twitch and a jerk of his hands.

"Relax, Bates," Grantham turned to the father as he carefully cradled the son. "I've become quite good at handling infants the last few years. I've spent far more time with my grandchildren at this age than I ever did with my daughters." He grew thoughtful. "It's sad, really, the way my class approaches parenting. Enjoy fatherhood, Bates. I think it will suit you."

He bent to carefully tuck the baby back into the pram with his sister. "As for you, little Eleanor," he whispered loudly, "I imagine your father will be chasing the suitors away with his stick in the not too distant future."

Bates' eyes widened as he briefly imagined the coming years. "That future is distant enough, milord, please," he said with a chuckle.

"But the years fly by, Bates," Lord Grantham murmured, "They absolutely fly."

The twins' first year certainly had flown by, Bates reflected, as he hiked Rob up higher in his left arm, wielding his cane proficiently with his right. The church bazaar had come to Downton once again. Father and son roamed the stalls, searching for an appropriate sweet to take back to Anna and Ellie. Bates found himself wondering just how much Rob was taking in. At just over one year old, his eyes were wide and darted from one sight to another, occasionally reaching out a hand to grasp or point at some bright colored prize or the feather on some lady's hat. Bates wove them confidently down the center of each aisle, deftly avoiding a disaster with any feathers, ribbons, or other tempting ladies' accessory.

Settling on a tin of biscuits and two bottles of orange pop all tucked in the basket looped over his left arm, Bates made his way back to the table Anna had claimed. He smiled as he approached her, jostling Rob up and down to keep him occupied while he enjoyed the sight of Anna being Anna. She was holding court as surely as Lady Grantham under her canopy across the lawn. Several servants and fair number of villagers approached her while he furtively watched. Most exchanged a few words and seemed to dote on Ellie for a few moments then move along. She was so endearingly kind and courteous to each one, Bates marveled at how she maintained such patience with so many different people. Part of the time she held Ellie on her lap, then allowed her to toddle to the next table where Miss Baxter sat. Although they had been pressed into service setting up for the bazaar, and would certainly join in the clean-up tasks tomorrow, Bates appreciated that valets and lady's maids were not called on to work the fair as the rest of the staff were. He could enjoy a rare day out with his family.

"Do you have time for your husband, Mrs. Bates?" he asked, letting the basket drop onto the table as Rob slid down his body and into his mother's lap. Anna smoothed his wispy flyaway hair and adjusted the collar of the boy's romper.

"Always," she said. She smiled at him and just for a moment everything went away – children, coworkers, food and craft stalls – and it was just the two of them. She could always do that; even in the midst of a hundred other people, she could reconnect with him in an astonishingly intimate way. Then Ellie toddled back, clasped onto her skirt and Rob's leg, causing him to squawk, and the moment was over.

"Careful, darling," Anna gently corrected their daughter. "Soft touches, soft touches." She held Ellie's hand and gently stroked it across Rob's leg. He wasn't much soothed and scrambled to get down from her lap.

"John, the blanket?" she motioned toward the pram parked at the end of the table. "Hold still, Robbie," she said, holding him firmly. "Daddy will fix it. We don't want grass stains all over your new clothes, do we?" she asked in slight sing-song.

Bates cringed as he pulled the woolen blanket from the bag hanging from the back of the pram. Calling Eleanor "Ellie" was just tolerable, though he hoped that would pass in time. But he simply could not abide anyone, even Anna, calling their son "Robbie." He supposed it had to do with the respect he bore the man whose name he carried, though truly, the diminutive grated on his ears with regard to both of their children. He called him "Rob" in hopes that Anna would in time adopt a far less annoying shortened version. He wondered if he could start playing around with "Ella" or "Nora" in hopes of making a shift with both names.

"I'm sorry," she said, helping him spread the blanket beside the table. "It just slipped out." Her one-handed help was scant help at all, but Bates hadn't the heart to be critical. He bent awkwardly, trying to straighten the edges.

"Still not walking yet?" Miss Baxter asked as she took Rob from Anna's arm.

"Not yet," Anna said, stooping to lay the blanket flat.

"Ella's been walking for a couple of months," Bates shared, "but Rob hasn't quite got the trick of it yet."

Anna shot him a look, curious. She picked their daughter up and set her on the blanket. Baxter plopped Rob down before he could clamber free of her. He sat, looking around for a bit, then crawled to the edge of the blanket. Bates picked him up and turned him around, exchanging a raised brow with Anna. Rob continued to crawl toward Baxter, who was hunkered down at the far corner from Bates. Rob pulled himself up to a standing position using her knees for support. She brushed his hair with one hand and held onto his right hand with her left.

"You can do it," she encouraged him.

"Oy there, Robbie, my lad," Molesley rather cheerfully joined their little group. "Let's give it a go." He held his arms out, coaxing the boy to walk from Miss Baxter to him. Baxter smiled from Rob to Molesley. Rob lifted one leg, capturing all four adults' attention, looked around, then promptly sat down on the blanket.

"Mr. Molesley," Bates drawled, "what did your parents call you when you were a boy?" He took the biscuit Eleanor offered him with Anna's encouragement and broke off a piece for her, shaking the crumbs into the grass.

"Well," Molesley began, cocking his head to one side in thought, "I was always 'Joseph' or 'Joe' to my father, but Mum called me 'Joey' up until the day she died."

Bates shot Anna a pointed look. She returned a withering glance. He had the feeling that, had they been alone at home, she would have stuck her tongue out at him. He was tempted to poke her in the ribs. For the first time since the War began, he was glad she was sitting closer to Molesley than she was to him.

"Did you see him?" Anna asked him. She reached up to straighten Eleanor's dress, which had become hiked up in the back. She seemed to be trying to project an air of nonchalance, but he knew she was keenly interested.

"Couldn't find him," Bates shook his head in a tight, short negative gesture.

"For whom are you looking?" Molesley asked, eyes darting from one Bates to another.

"Just a man I want to see about some land," Bates brushed off the footman's question.

"Have you found one?" Baxter asked Anna eagerly. "Your hotel?"

"Not exactly," Anna answered, smiling somewhat hesitantly. Bates noticed she included Molesley in her response. He picked Rob up again, directing him toward the center of the blanket, and scooted closer to Anna. It was silly, really, but Molesley's past interest in Anna still set his teeth on edge. And this was supposed to be their dream, what was she doing sharing it with just anybody?

"Looks like I must be going," Molesley said abruptly. "Mr. Carson's eye is roving this way." The footman stood, squeezing Baxter's hand as he did so.

Bates stood as well, as the butler approached their little group. "Mr. and Mrs. Bates," he boomed, "how are you finding the bazaar?"

"As thrilling as ever, Mr. Carson," Bates replied. "Everything seems to be running very smoothly." He thought Carson preened ever so slightly at the compliment.

"Lady Grantham has outdone herself this year," the butler agreed. "No arguments on the lawn yet." His critical gaze ranged across the stalls, tables, and pavilions erected in orderly precision. "Well, hello!" he looked down at Eleanor who had grasped the leg of his trousers.

"Oh, Mr. Carson!" Anna exclaimed, "I'm so sorry. Let me take her."

"No harm done," the butler assured her, bending to pick up Ellie. "Not even noticeable." He held the leg out for her inspection. Bates was certain he detected a few damp biscuit crumbs ground into the cloth, but he was not about to mention them. "You are becoming quite the little lady, aren't you?" he cooed to Ellie. Bates twitched as his daughter reached out to rub at Carson's eyebrows. Anticipating a tug, he and Anna both leaned toward the butler, but then Bates felt a tug at his own trousers as Rob used him as a support to stand once again.

"That's the way, Robbie! You can do it!" Bates glanced from his son toward the source of the young voice encouraging him. In short order young Master George was kneeling at the edge of the blanket, holding his arms out toward Rob. Now a sturdy six year-old, the future Earl of Grantham was a frequent visitor to the Bates cottage whenever his mother fancied a catchup with her former maid.

Wincing slightly as Rob pushed against his knee, Bates was torn between protecting Carson from his overly curious daughter and watching his son as he let go of his trouser leg and wobbled precariously on his own. A quick glance at Anna showed she was similarly immobilized between which child most warranted her attention. Their customary non-verbal communication seemed to be failing both as Bates was unable to determine if Anna intended to be prepared to snatch Ellie from Carson's arms if needed or to scoop Rob from the floor if he fell.

"Mr. Carson!" Andrew called from several tables away. As the butler's head turned and Ellie's hand just missed grabbing one bushy brow, Anna gently retrieved her from his arms. The narrowly escaped brows lowered as Carson stalked off to chastise the young footman for shouting.

Bates grinned as Rob toddled uncertainly a couple of steps toward the young Master Crawley. George continued to reach his arms out toward Rob, gesturing him on. Rob paused and looked up at his father. Bates bent at the waist and waved him toward George. Rob toddled two more short steps and then seemed to realize that no one was holding on to him. Bates saw tears pool in the corners of his eyes and his bottom lip quiver slightly. Just as Rob was about to give up and collapse on the blanket, Master George rushed forward on his knees and gathered Rob into a fierce hug.

"Good job, Robbie!" the boy crowed. "You walked. I knew you could do it!" Setting Rob back on his feet, George straightened the younger boy's collar and turned to Anna. "Did you see him, Mrs. Bates? He walked, all by himself."

"He certainly did, didn't he?" Anna smiled indulgently.

"Ah, George, there you are," the newest arrival to their table said. "You've gotten ahead of me again."

"That's just what Mama says I am supposed to do, Grandpapa," George replied to his grandfather. Bates smiled tolerantly at the exchange between the two and did not fail to notice that George continued to hold Rob's hand.

He also did not fail to notice that the object of his earlier search stood slightly behind Lord Grantham, pointedly making eye contact with him. Bates nodded and shot Anna a fleeting look. He was relieved that their silent communication seemed to be restored as Anna set Ellie in the pram and took Rob's other hand. Lord Grantham patted his grandson on the head, rested his other hand gently on Rob's curls, and then turned to Bates, waving an arm back toward his companion.

"Bates? A word?" he asked as he stepped back.

Bates followed the two men some distance away from any other bazaar patrons. He glanced back once and noted Anna's apprehensive but hopeful expression. Lord Grantham stopped as he arrived under the shade of one of the extremely large, extremely ancient trees on the estate. He gestured Bates nearer as the valet hung back several paces from force of habit.

"Bates," Grantham drew out his name thoughtfully, "Crawford here says you have made him an offer."

"I have, milord, though I did want to discuss it with you before we proceeded." Bates glanced quickly between the two men, sensing an unspoken question.

"Mr. Crawford wonders at your ability to meet the terms of your offer," Lord Grantham supplied the answer. "He seems to doubt your veracity, a problem I have never had," the Earl eyed Crawford with a degree of speculation, "and yet, this arrangement does seem to be beyond what you have spoken of in the past."

"Milord," Bates nodded to his employer. "Mr. Crawford," he offered their companion a decidedly more curt nod. "I assure you that I am quite able to fulfill the terms I offered to Mr. Crawford. I can buy him out of his tenancy, though future payments to Your Lordship may well depend on how business might fare."

"Fair enough," Grantham replied. "We can discuss how your business might fare at a later time. Crawford, Bates is a man of honor and of his word. He would not have made an offer he could not complete." He turned and eyed Bates thoughtfully. "It is a good location, I think?"

"I think so, too, milord," Bates agreed. "A country hotel, with just a touch of luxury for those seeking a short holiday from the bustle of life in a city. And it keeps us close to Downton, which Anna prefers."

"I believe my daughters will prefer your family remain close to Downton as well," Lord Grantham nodded toward the table where Anna once again sat with Rob on her lap, as she and Lady Edith watched George and Marigold walk hand in hand with Ellie. "As do I," he added, clapping Bates quickly on the shoulder.

"Then you approve of the sale of the tenancy, Lord Grantham?" Crawford asked. "Mr. Bates' offer will correct my arrearage and enable me to invest in a project with my son in the south. Eryholme has become much more than I can manage alone. It's a good move for us both."

"Indeed it is," Grantham replied. "Yes, I approve the sale. I'll have my agent contact you this week about arranging for the transfer."

"Thank you, Lord Grantham," Crawford nodded to the Earl and offered Bates his hand. "Good luck to you, Mr. Bates. Please accept my apologies for doubting you."

"Apology accepted, Mr. Crawford. This arrangement will take nearly all my wife and I have saved over the years, but it's a unique opportunity to fulfill an old dream of ours."

As Crawford walked away, Lord Grantham looked askance at Bates. "Eryholme is much bigger than anything you've mentioned before. I don't doubt that you or Anna can accomplish anything you set your minds to, but will you be able to manage it?"

"We may have to close off one wing temporarily, and open it later once we can afford to hire some staff, but I assure you, milord, we can manage." Bates met Grantham's eye firmly.

"So, you're leaving me again, Bates," the Earl sighed.

"I'm not so much leaving you, milord, as we are changing our relationship," Bates offered slyly. "I'll be your tenant, after all."

"You most certainly will not!" Grantham puffed out his chest to emphasize his point. Bates' eyes widened in confusion.

"Milord? I don't understand. The point of buying out Crawford's tenancy is that I can acquire a larger, grander property than I could if I bought outright. There will be some work involved converting the manor house into a hotel, but, I will still be your tenant, and I will make future payments on the lease." Bates was earnest in his desire to assure Lord Grantham that he would make good on the arrangement. "That is the offer that Crawford and I discussed. That I buy him out of his existing tenancy and renew the lease with you directly."

Bates tried to catch Lord Grantham's eye as he finished but noticed the Earl was once again watching Anna and Lady Edith as they encouraged Rob to walk a handful of paces back and forth between them on the blanket.

"That's going to be quite impossible, Bates, since I soon won't own that property." Grantham spoke softly, seemingly more interested in the idyllic domestic view than the arrangement he had just approved and yet now seemed to be abandoning.

"Milord?" Bates queried, not quite yet frantic, but apprehensive.

"You're not to worry, Bates," Grantham assured. "I have little doubt that the new owner will work with you on a long-term lease. You may find him slightly more demanding than I would be, but I expect you'll be able to work with him."

"Milord?" Bates asked again, utterly confused.

"There's your new landlord, Bates," Lord Grantham nodded, "making time with your wife." Bates saw Anna swing Rob into her arms and cuddle him close.

"Milord?!" Bates all but stammered. "No, I cannot accept-"

"Spare me your misplaced pride and honor, Bates." Grantham dismissed his near sputtering with a wave of his arm. "I'd as soon make it my gift to you for many years of faithful service above and beyond the call of duty, but I know you won't let me give it to you. And grand as Eryholme is, it's still a small thank you for everything you've done for my family. But there is absolutely nothing you can do about a gift I choose to present to my namesake, my godson."

"Milord, no," Bates insisted, wondering if were still able to begin a sentence with a word other than 'milord.' He cut the air between them with his hands, as though trying to grasp an argument that would prevent such an overly generous gift. "It's too much. I have worked for you for a fair wage. I cannot accept such a gift for myself or on my son's behalf. Milord, no, please no."

Lord Grantham met his eye with all the determination of the former Captain Crawley. Bates stared back with all the implacability of a Boer, silently imploring him to understand that such a gift truly was too generous. Could His Lordship possibly comprehend, Bates wondered, his need to prove himself, to make something of himself, and not always be profiting at another's whimsy? As it was, the purchase of a hotel, their dream, was only possible because of his inheritance, first from his mother, and then from Vera, although that he owed as much to Anna's love and determination. He found a measure of comfort in his own stewardship of those gifts over the years. He and Anna had been frugal and saved from both the rent received on the London house as well as their wages, but then, the cottage provided at no cost to them by Lord Grantham was a help in that regard as well. He wanted, no he _needed_ to know that the life he built for his family was built on his own efforts, his and Anna's, at any rate. He could not live with himself if he thought that he owed that life entirely to Robert Crawley.

"And do I not owe you all that I have, all that I am since Africa, my friend?" Bates was taken aback at His Lordship's insight. It was as if Lord Grantham had read his very thoughts. "And how many times in the years you've been here have you saved my family from ruin? The Turk? The Crown Prince?"

Bates shrugged, dismissing his service as though it was to be expected. And so he had always felt. The years when he had not been serving Robert Crawley seemed more wasted than those at his side. Truth be told, part of the appeal of Eryholme, in addition to being able to run a much grander hotel than they had ever dreamed of during the war, was the fact that in a way, as a tenant, he would still be serving the man who had given him a purpose and a livelihood in what seemed two distinct lifetimes.

"I propose a compromise," Lord Grantham offered, pulling Bates from his reverie. The Earl took in a deep breath and Bates found himself looking up to meet his eye, they now stood so close. "Permit me to come alongside as a silent partner in your hotel. My contribution will be the future lease payments." Bates' eyes widened at the thought. "You will reinvest my percentage of the profits in capital improvements and in taking on additional staff." Bates' look became more calculating. Lord Grantham returned a shrewd look of his own. "And if you're still alive when I die, you will accept the fact that some portions of my property can be willed where and to whom I choose."

Bates released a breath he suddenly realized he'd been holding. "You really mean to give me no option to refuse, don't you, milord?" Bates smirked ruefully.

"Were it not for Matthew and Tom's brilliant service to Downton, I might not still have the means to provide an inheritance for my grandson. But were it not for your service to me and my family, I might not have the grandson or the good name to leave him. Therefore you will not prevent me from providing what I can for my godson as well," He looked away from Bates as he finished speaking and Bates followed His Lordship's gaze as it once again settled on the children playing. Now Master George was standing behind Rob, holding his hands and walking him rather jerkily beside the table were Anna sat. Marigold trailed behind holding a slightly more stable Ellie's hand. Lady Mary had joined Anna and Lady Edith.

Lord Grantham strode purposefully back toward the women and children. Bates followed more sedately, tapping his cane with thoughtful resignation each time he paused.

"Look, Bates," Master George called, gesturing to Rob toddling from one chair to another unaided. "He's getting really good."

"He certainly is, Master George," Bates replied indulgently. "Thank you for helping him practice."

"Oh, you're quite welcome, Bates," George said with an eager smile. "I like to help Robbie."

Lord Grantham shot Bates an ironic smirk then smoothed his features and addressed his grandson. "It is always important to help others when we can, George. I'm pleased to see you've grasped that concept at such a young age."

Bates had never before felt the urge to stick his tongue out at Robert Crawley, but he clenched his teeth and closed to his eyes to control the sensation. He settled for a raising of his brows and a tilt of his head in His Lordship's direction.

"However, George," Lord Grantham waited until he had the boy's undivided attention, "you will, please, address this gentleman as 'Mr. Bates.' He is no longer our servant but a prominent local businessman."

Master George's, "I apologize, Mr. Bates," was all but drowned out by Lady Mary's, "What's this?" and Lady Edith's, "Beg pardon?"

Bates caught Anna's eye and nodded slightly. Her composed features broke out into a brilliant smile and he found he couldn't help but return it. The dream they had only cautiously given voice to over ten years ago and had carefully cherished and nurtured in more recent years was actually coming to fruition.

"The Bates family is taking over the tenancy on Eryholme," Lord Grantham was explaining, though Bates had eyes only for Anna. "You recall the house that belonged to my great-grandmother, on the way to Durham," the Earl further clarified to his daughters. "They are going to turn it into a thriving, luxurious country hotel."

The Crawley daughters made suitable approving noises and congratulated Anna, though Bates noticed that she kept looking back to him, her smile growing oddly more shy. Or was that sly? Bates wondered. Perhaps it was time to get the children home for a nap so he could explore that smile a bit more fully. He smirked as she stood and hiked Rob on her hip.

"Thank you, Lord Grantham," Anna said. "Mr. Bates and I are very much looking forward to our family business. But now," she let out a long-suffering sigh, "I really do need to get these two home for a nap. Are you able to walk us home, Mr. Bates?" Her expression was deadpan, but Bates nevertheless sensed that she also expected them to put nap time to good use.

As they began the short walk across the grand lawn of Downton Abbey, Bates turned, his left hand still resting next to Anna's on the handle of the pram the twins sat in. He smiled as Rob was already slumping to one side, half-asleep, while Ellie chattered softly to herself or to him, Bates wasn't quite sure. He saw Lord Grantham walk away from his daughters and visit with others from the village, young Master George running to catch up and then carefully modeling his stride after his grandfather's. It struck Bates that he would shortly inhabit a world that centered around his wife and children, and their hotel, full time, and he would be privileged to spend only occasional time with Lord Grantham and the rest of the residents of Downton Abbey, upstairs or down. He vowed to himself then that he would make the most of that time, as he now worked hard to spend as much time as he could with Anna and the children.

He watched Lord Grantham stride from one stall to another, supremely confident in his mastery of his world, yet firmly committed toward bettering that world for all who inhabited it with him. And as Bates turned back to regard the other Robert in his life, now drowsing peacefully, he affirmed once again that his son could have no better model, no clearer guidepost than his captain, his employer, his benefactor, his good and dear friend, Robert Crawley.


End file.
